Together We Are One
by Adara Foxglove
Summary: All origins are true and no one comes to Ostagar unscarred. Join Duncan's seven newest recruits as they overcome the traumas of their past, the stinging betrayal of Ostagar to take out the biggest threat to Ferelden and all of Thedas... the Archdemon. They'll experience love and loss, all in a journey that will bind them tighter than any family. Without killing Alastiar first.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is an all origins are true story that will encompass the events of the Fifth Blight, and a bit beyond. The pairings are set as F!Cousland/Alastair, F!Tabris/Zevran, F!Surana/Cullen, M!Amell/Morrigan, F!Aeducan/M!Brosca, and F!Mahariel/Lelianna. I intend this to be a very large story, and am making this my go between for my Leauge story Born of Legend. That is to say that I'll be working on this inbetween updates for that. There will also be all of the DLC's plus a few mods included such as the Cullen Romance Mod, and the Advanced Shapeshifting Mod. As such, expect it to get a little AU... you know, other than the fact that there are seven wardens instead of just one.**

**So, sit back and enjoy.**

**Review and favorite, your words are the wind beneath my wings... er, so to speak.**

**Much love,**

**Adara.**

The Noble

"Lady Cousland, your hound…"

"Is in the larder again? I'm not surprised that troublesome mutt seems to get in there every other week." A young figure, padded and protected in scale armor, turned away from the beaten and battered practice dummy to face the man who had drawn her attention. Ser Gilmore wore an amused smirk at that, and Lady Cousland huffed, pulling off her helmet.

"Call him what you want Alana, but we both know you love him." Alana narrowed her eyes, stabbing her sword into the ground as she fought the urge to smack her friend upside the head. That damn dog… Maker she did love him but sometimes Viggo was more trouble than he was worth.

"That's enough sass out of you Rory. I take it Nan is in a tizzy now?" At Ser Gilmore's nod, Alana bit back a sigh.

"I swear that dog imprinted on me just to drive me mad. You know, I didn't want him anyway! He was supposed to be Fergus' but no, the damn headache on paws just had to imprint on me instead!" It was an old rant, one that he had heard time and time again over the years that it had lost any hope of seriousness. Despite her harsh words Ser Gilmore knew that anyone found threatening her Mabari would face the wrath of the young warrior. And as the spitfire of Highever, the wrath of Alana Cousland was something that many knights knew to avoid.

"Yes we know. Being chosen by a Mabari was the worst moment of your life." Ser Gilmore snorted, amusement in his voice as he watched the young noble pause, before turning an annoyed green glare to him. While that dark look might have sent anyone else cowering, Rory was distinctly unimpressed. He spent a large part of his childhood tugging on her pigtails and chasing her around after playing many a trick on the girl. Including nailing her braids to her bedpost when she slept.

"Why you smarmy little shit! That's it!" With a hollered battle cry Alana launched herself at the young knight, taking him down in a cloud of dust. Ser Gilmore yelped, bracing himself as they landed in a graceless heap, rolling and wrestling on the ground. It ended when Alana had him pinned on his stomach underneath her, yanking his foot back up almost to his head.

"Alright, Alright, I give! Maker Alana, get off of me!" He grunted, trying desperately to buck her off. Alana smirked, brown hair tumbling over her face as she looked down at him. There was dirt smeared across her face, and the lines of sweat did nothing to improve upon her looks. Maker, if Her Ladyship saw this she would likely have an aneurism.

"No! Not until you admit to my superiority." Pulling lightly on his leg, the brunette yelped in surprise as Rory rolled, pinning her beneath him with her arm twisted behind her back.

"Oh yes, you are certainly the best." He grinned, tugging lightly on her long ponytail. Alana squirmed, a growl in her throat as she tried to buck him off. Ser Gilmore was unphased; the young Cousland was a formidable opponent true, and she had bested him in many competition but he always took her down when they wrestled. It helped that he outweighed her by a good seventy pounds.

"Admit defeat my dear Lady Cousland!" He grinned, pondering the consequences of pushing her face into the mud. On second thought though, perhaps that wouldn't end well… Alana would likely seek reparitions from the action. And his oldest and dearest friend could be very crafty when she set her mind to it.

"You are! Now get your fat ass off of me! You're squishing me!" She laughed, renewing her efforts to force him off of her.

"That's all I needed to hear." Rolling off of his friend, Ser Gilmore spread out beside the young woman and looked up at the cloudless sky. It was an uncharacteristically hot day in June, and they were both sweating like pigs in their armor. The drought season had made the ground cracked and dusty, and after that little tussle both were feeling dirty and gritty.

"You know you still have to go get him, right?" Ser Gilmore chuckled, breathing heavy in his own armor, looking over at her.

"I know. I should probably clean up a bit too. But let's go get Viggo first." Rolling onto her feet in a practiced move Alana offered her hand to her oldest friend, hoisting him up.

"I'm pretty sure Nan wanted to see you anyway My Lady; with Arl Howe's men coming in a few days and your dog terrorizing the kitchens she probably wants the larder filled up." Mention of Howe's arrival had Alana's face turning down into a grimace and the woman thought distantly of the visiting Arl. More so, she thought of his never ceasing attempts to marry her off to his son Thomas.

"Ung, don't remind me I beg you. Maker, if I hear one more word about marriage to his dreadful oaf of a son I might have to kill him myself!" Grimace turning into a full blown scowl Alana jerked her sword up out of the ground, slinging it over her back as she made a direct beeline to the castle. As she walked the servants all bowed low before carrying on with their tasks. They were mostly elves, but a few humans were mixed in. Alana Cousland nodded to each of them as she passed, a polite smile on her face.

"Ah, well you know Lady Landra just arrived and she brought her son Dairren." Rory grinned, watching as Alana's face flushed pink. On the multiple occasions that Tyerna Eleanor had the Loren's over to the castle Dairren had shamelessly flirted with the young warrior. He was one of the few people who were not intimidated by her martial skills, thus leading to both of their mothers trying to push for a wedding. No doubt after the upcoming war Dairren would make the announcement and ask for Alana's hand. And Ser Gilmore had no doubt that his friend would gladly accept. She had graciously accepted his advancements and reciprocated them; of the few times that the people of Highever saw their Lady in a dress and not her armor was when the Loren's were visiting.

"Shut up!" Alana growled, hunching her shoulders defensively as she hid her face. Ser Gilmore never hesitated to make fun of the young girl when he could for her crush. She was saved from his rebuttal by the angry shouting that came from the kitchens.

"Where is that blasted girl?! I swear if she doesn't get that blighted mutt of hers out of the larder I'll skin it and serve it to her for dinner!" That angered screech was all too familiar to her, and Alana quickened her steps.

"Peace good woman, I'm here." She soothed, holding her hands up as she stepped into the kitchens. Nan turned to face her, a vicious glower on her face as she pointed a bony finger at her, brandishing it as efficiently as a knight with his sword.

"Your dog is terrorizing my staff! I want him out!" Nan snarled, jabbing the finger right into her chest. Alana winced, feeling it all the way through her padding. The woman's bones had to be made out of pure adamantine to still be this strong.

"I'll get him, I promise. And I'm sorry!" Bowing out, Alana hurried into the larder where the Mabari was chewing on a ham bone, the meat all but gone. Nan was one of the few individuals that she was truly afraid of. The cook had been her nurse when she was younger, and had never hesitated to discipline her if she'd gotten out of line… which she'd done a lot.

"Viggo! What have I told you about getting into the larder?" She hissed, features stern as forested eyes narrowed on the dark hound. The dog looked up, ears flicking back with a sad whine as he sat back on his haunches.

"Good, you should feel bad! You've gotten me into a butt load of trouble!" Viggo looked down, shuffling his paws contritely before hurrying back and rummaging through a few sacks.

"What are you doing? Come on you blasted mutt!" Fisting her hands on her hips, Alana was prepared to go drag her dog out before he rushed up to her with a sweet roll carried carefully in his jaws. Dropping it at her feet he hopped around, barking happily and tail wagging furiously. He was so obviously pleased with himself that Alana had to fight a smile on her face. Not to mention sweet rolls were her all-time favorite snack. Damn that dog, he was too smart and too cute for his own good!

"Come on you four legged headache. And you can keep the bone." Dusting off the roll, she took a huge bite out of it and strolled calmly out of the door.

"And there he is, looking like a cat that's caught a canary. And you! Walking out after pilfering one of my rolls! Why I ought to turn you over my knee and give you a good switching." Nan was now in full blown matron mode and pulled out a thin and flexible willow branch. Alana paled slightly at that, and Ser Gilmore smirked at seeing two of the Cousland's mightiest warriors cowed by an elderly woman.

"Run boy!" Dodging around the elder as efficiently as she could, Alana jumped with a yowl as Nan switched her right in her derriere, an area that was only protected by a thin layer of leather. Viggo yelped at his master's cry, before high-tailing it out of the kitchens, followed by the young noble.

"Come on Rory, we're going hunting!" Those words were echoed down the hall, as the woman was already halfway to Denerim by now. Ser Gilmore laughed aloud, nodding respectfully at the still armed cook as he bowed out, careful not to incur her wrath.

* * *

"Ouch! Damn, sitting hurts now!" Squirming in her saddle, Alana received a reproachful swat from the tail of her horse. Glaring down at the wretched beast she settled down at that, adjusting her elm bow and sighing the young woman picked up the pace moving from an easy canter to a brisk trot. The hunting trails were drawing even closer and the speed of their movement caused the flyaway hairs that had escaped her braid to flutter around her face. She winced at almost every step, almost certain that the horse was intentionally hitting every bump that it could.

"You shouldn't have enabled him." Ser Gilmore smiled, rubbing his chin as he followed, weapon of choice being instead a crossbow. Viggo growled halfheartedly at him, before bounding away with his nose to the ground.

"Well… he has that face." Alana offered weakly, cheeks flushing pink.

"And yet earlier you claimed that you never even wanted him in the first place." He laughed, trying to draw breath as she spat her tongue out at him.

"Shut up you nug-humping bastard!" She cried, though the words had no sting to them.

"As you command my Lady." Viggo trotted back up to them, ears pressed back before going completely still, nose pointed directly to the east where a large doe was foraging about three hundred yards out. Alana drew her bow, easing the chestnut mare to a halt. Sighting down the arrow, her spine straightened and she drew back with practiced form. Ser Gilmore watched his friend fall into a familiar pose. He remembered as a child watching Tyerna Eleanor teaching her children how to shoot in the courtyard. Though Alana was not as skilled as her mother, she still brought the doe down with only two shots.

"Gotcha. Come on, give me a hand would you?" Sliding out of the saddle she reclaimed her arrows, putting the still struggling creature out of its misery. Ser Gilmore helped the brunette secure it to her mount, before tying the horses up to a low lying branch.

"That's one nothing Rory, keep this up and I'm going to win." With a familiar smirk the young noble hurried off, though he noticed that she still walked with a bit of a limp. Allowing a smile to crease his face he drew and readied his crossbow before heading off in the opposite direction, determined to out hunt his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Woo chapter two! Yeah! Nothing much to say about this one till the end, but I imagine you'll figure out which Origin this is relatively quick.**

**Sit back and enjoy, and leave a review.**

**Much love,**

**Adara.**

A Fugitive Conscripted

"Oriole… my little bird. Today is your big day. Your mother would be so proud." Cyrion looked upon his daughter with the prickling of tears in his eyes. Standing up on that stage beside Nelaros his daughter looked more like her mother than ever before. With long red hair that fell in expertly sculpted curls, her golden eyes shown with happiness. She smiled gently at the man beside her; Nelaros, the man he had picked to marry his daughter. For a moment Cyrion had been worried… his daughter had a penchant for trouble and putting her rogue skills to use. Before her death Adaia had imparted all of her knowledge of the roguish arts; two weapon fighting, lock picking, sneaking…

Talents that his daughter had embraced whole heartedly. Oh, she could usually get herself out of the trouble she got into, her tongue was as silver as any coin, but her penchant for dragging Soris along with her had led to many a sleepless night. At least they had always had Shianni to keep them from doing anything too outrageous.

But now his baby girl was getting married, and she was genuinely excited. Cyrion had paid good money to make the match with his daughter and the smith from Highever. Even more money to make sure that Nelaros would be staying down here. While this ceremony signified Oriole's ascension from adolescence to adulthood, he was not ready to have his daughter completely gone.

"I love you Papa. I wish she was here too." Brushing out the wrinkles of her beautiful wedding dress, she never looked more like a wonderful young woman than she did now. Oriole threw her arms around Cyrion, pulling him into a tight hug. He felt the nervous shivers that wracked her petite frame. Cradling her close he felt a smile tugging at his lips. That this normally confident young woman would be jittery about this… it was quite understandable actually.

"Well, this is it little bird. Don't be a stranger." He grinned, looking over as the Revered Mother stepped onto their makeshift stage.

"I won't. And Papa? You picked a good one." Pressing a light kiss to his cheek Oriole danced nimbly over to stand beside her betrothed, whose eyes lit up as she drew near. Cyrion leaned back, arms crossed and a small smile on his face… Yes, he really did pick a good one.

* * *

"Oh yes, come closer. I'll behave… honest." Unarmed, in a dungeon facing two trained guards was not how one envisioned their wedding day to go. For Oriole Tabris however, this harsh reality was all too true. She faced her _escorts_ with a relaxed poise—just as her mother had taught her—though her heart screamed to see her cousin and friends led away.

"That's it, be a good girl." The one with a horribly over-waxed mustache crooned, taking a few steps closer.

"Uh… hello?" Never in her life had Oriole been gladder to see Soris, especially when he stumbled in carrying a long sword in his hand. Maker bless him, he just gave her a fighting chance.

"Oh, look at this Maerl, a little elfling with a stolen sword." Moustache chuckled, as they both turned to face the newcomer, who was still dressed in his wedding clothes. Behind the humans Oriole smirked, her thin lips pressing against her teeth as gold eyes shown with ill-concealed malice. Luckily, Soris didn't even try to brandish the weapon as the men approached, instead opting to send it sliding between their legs. Oriole picked it up with a flourish, her gaze becoming purely predatory as the shemlen turned to her. They thought her to be a weak little elfling, soft and demure just like all of the others… boy weren't they in for a rude awakening. Oriole didn't do demure; her temper was as fiery as her hair.

"Oh sod." Maerl was at least intelligent enough to look concerned, and the shemlen quickly drew their weapons after that. Out of the corner of her eyes Oriole saw her cousin pull a crossbow off his back, bracing himself as he drew the string back and readied it to fire. She kept close eye on her cousin, making sure to remove herself from his way and to avoid taking a bolt. Her mother had taught her how to wield two weapons; a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Without the dagger's counterweight she was a little off balance and paid the price for it as the sword cut into her arm, ripping the sleeve of her dress and staining it red.

Oriole fell back, adjusting her center of gravity to make up for the change of balance, mentally blocking out the pain in her arm. She swung the sword, bringing it up to block the next attack. She parried against Moustache, landing a slice that split open his cheek and had him howling in pain. Though she doubted the wound hurt too much, it was more likely the surprise from the attack. Falling back into her mother's training, she spun and dodged, exploiting the weak spots in his armor. It was then that she noticed Maerl had abandoned his attempt to flank her and was advancing on her cousin.

"Soris!" She hissed a warning, abandoning her current prey and dashing after the man. Soris looked up at her call, arms straining to reload the crossbow as Maerl went to crush his skull with a mace.

That meant that his back was towards her, a fact that Oriole didn't hesitate to exploit. The tip of her sword easily found its way through a gap in the human's armor, slipping easily through skin and muscle to erupt out the other side with a spray of blood. Maerl fell with a gurgled cry, leaving Oriole and Soris to deal with the shield bearing guard. He gave an angered yell, sword glancing across her cheek with a swing that was narrowly avoided. Oriole tumbled, rolling with practiced grace and snatching up the dagger that was sheathed at his belt. Now equipped with another weapon she ignored the sting in her face and the hot trickle of blood down her neck as she threw herself at the Shem with renewed fervor.

"Today, you die." Parrying his slash with the dagger, she blocked the raise of his shield with her sword arm and delivered a savage kick to his midsection. The force of the movement caused her dress to rip slightly, but it was unimportant as the man stumbled backwards, tripping over the body of the fallen elven maiden. With an emotionless glance she buried her sword in his neck, turning to her cousin now that the immediate threat was over. As glad as she was to see him, Oriole needed answers.

"I… can't believe they killed her! Are you all right? They… didn't hurt you, did they?" Soris was bent over the woman's body, standing quickly to inspect his cousin sharply.

"I'm fine, nothing to be concerned about." She replied easily, wiping at her face, "where did the sword come from?"

"That Grey Warden, Duncan, gave Nelaros and me his sword and crossbow, but that's all we have." He answered, ears twitching nervously as Oriole bent down to pick at the bodies of the guards. At his words she looked over in surprise, eyes wide.

"Nelaros is here?" She asked softly, pocketing a coin purse and a small vial of red fluid.

"Yes, he's the reason we're here. He lost it on those who wanted to 'hope for the best'. I didn't know what to do…" Soris looked ashamed at that, and Oriole felt a thrill of warmth run through her. She had been leery of the idea of an arranged marriage at first, her concerns dispelled when she first laid eyes on Nelaros, but a betrothed who would fight for her honor instead of letting some arrogant lordling just have his way? Marriage was looking more and more appealing. Oriole placed a hand on her cousin's shoulder, handing him the potion and kissing his cheek.

"You're here now, that's all that matters. Now come on, grab that sword and shield. Don't try anything flashy and stick with your crossbow, you're not that bad of a shot. Only pull those out if you have no other option and just hunker down behind your shield and let me deal with it. We'll try to sneak through, the less bloodshed the better." Soris nodded at her grave warning, letting his cousin take the lead with a sigh of relief. Sometimes he wished he could be as brave as her, but had long ago contented himself with his role.

"Thanks. Nelaros is at the end of the hall, we'd better hurry and figure things out with him." Oriole was eager to be off, and not just because she was anxious to get out of this room. Hurrying to the door, they rushed through and locked it, before she allowed her cousin to take the lead. She had been out cold when they'd brought them in and just for the bruise that bastard had left on her face she was going to make him bleed.

They had been stored in what seemed to be a dungeon right off the kitchens. It didn't help that as soon as they'd left the cook started screaming his head off. Oriole was relieved when one of the servants—Darrel if she remembered correctly—hit him across the head with a bottle, a satisfied look on his face. The cook was knocked out cold… alive, but not likely to come around any time soon.

"You've no idea how long that Shem's had it coming." He snorted, wiping his hands off on his apron.

"I need to know if you've seen a group of elven maidens." She asked hurriedly, stepping over the fallen man as she searched for anything that could be of use. Most of it was cooking spices and food… completely useless for fighting.

"They were dragged to Bann Vaughan's quarters. I would hurry if you want to help." Darrel answered, before looking around worriedly, as if finally realizing the implications of what he'd done. "Ah, if you'll excuse me, I'm getting out of here before the storm hits."

"Go, and stay safe." Oriole nodded sagely, before turning in the direction the servant had indicated. As they were leaving she noticed a bottle sitting on the edge of the table. It was small, about the length of her wrist to the end of her middle finger and filled with purple liquid. Oriole paused, eyes lighting with potential as she swirled the contents of the vial. Pulling off the cap she gave it a slight whiff, pointed nose wrinkling at the lack of scent. Most likely it was rat poison; most effective if ingested but still dangerous if, per say, it were used to coat a blade…

Adaia Tabris had taught her daughter a great many things before her death; lock picking, swordplay, and a fair bit of archery. She also taught her how to pass through the shadows unnoticed, debilitate a foe without weapons, and how to properly apply the harmful effects of numerous toxins in a beneficial manner. Born in a different life, Oriole felt that she would have made an excellent assassin.

Oriole was a good girl; she lived in the Alienage and never did any wrong. Well, aside from a few thefts and minor trouble making… but every week she went to the Chantry, prayed to the Maker and repented for her sins. She did her best by her father and family, heeded Valendrian's words and tried not to draw too much attention for herself. All she wanted in return was a chance to be happy, and maybe catch a break every once and awhile. But when Vaughn's men came and kidnapped her friends, her _cousin_, all bets were off. If the Maker took offense to her actions, let Him smite her with His holy hand because she would feel no mercy for the idiots who stood in her way. So she pocketed the poison, for use at a later time.

When they snuck out of the kitchen, only to find a handful of off duty guards waiting with very uncomfortable questions, she could almost hear some divine being laughing at her from the Fade. There was a saying that her mother once told her, _there ain't no rest for the wicked._ She never considered herself particularly wicked before, but somebody must have, for it was certain that they wouldn't be able to escape this damned castle without shedding enough blood to fill the small pond that they went to in the heat of summer for a refreshing swim.

"Damn." She grunted, wiping her dagger on the garishly purple shirt of one of the now dead guards, before reaching down and sorting through his pockets. She wasn't quite sure how the Arl of Denerim trained his guards, but they obviously didn't focus much on ranged attack since the archer barely managed to fire even one glancing blow.

Oriole left the dining hall with the intent to be very careful and quiet, sneaking through the halls to avoid detection. Such was not the case when yet another guard exploded out of one of the rooms, weapon drawn and making enough noise as to raise all of his comrades in the entire area. The thin woman sighed in annoyance, cutting through them as quickly as possible. Her lack of attention however resulted in getting a deep gash across the stomach, one that had her reeling back as pain threatened her vision. A crossbow bolt in the neck had him tumbling down to the ground as Soris hurried up to her, pressing one of their reclaimed health potions into her hand. Pulling the cork out, she downed the noxious red liquid and sighed in slight relief as the pain abated and the wound sealed itself. It was safe to say that her wedding dress was ruined, a fact that filled her with even more rage when she thought of all the care and coin that had went into making it.

"Let's go." She snapped, shoving the door open to the small antechamber where Nelaros was guarding the way. They walked in just in time to see her future husband be cut down by the guard-captain. Oriole watched in horror as the blood sprayed out of him, a few drops hitting her right in the face as he collapsed to the ground, hand pressing against the wound in his middle.

"Nelaros!" She screamed, drawing the men's attention to her.

"See, I told you there'd be more. Elves run in packs, just like rodents." The captain sneered, watching her in disgust. Oriole couldn't move for a moment, shock freezing her body and leaving her trembling.

"Should we keep the knife-eared bitch alive?" The shock slowly gave way to rage. Not the fierce, blazing wildfire of emotion that could leave a bloody path of carnage and wreckage, but a cold, pitiless fury. There would be retribution; it would be swift, and it would be painful.

"They killed our boys. She dies." Soris watched as his cousin slowly lifted her blades. Her hair—it had been curled and pinned up for the start of the ceremony—hung in front of her face limply, barely retaining the curls that the women had struggled so hard to achieve. It was now damp with blood and sweat and as Oriole looked up, he felt more afraid of his cousin than the guards at that moment. Gone was the playful girl he'd grown up with, instead was a hard, deadly creature. There was no denying the bloodlust in her eyes, and she took a few steps forward, lips pulling back into a frightening visage of death and malice.

"I'm going to enjoy this…" She was on them before they had the time to react. Soris could barely get a shot in without risk to the woman as she spun in and out of them, cutting and slashing with no remorse. It wasn't until they were dead that he was able to gain a clear visual of her and what he saw was terrifying. Oriole stood over the bodies dripping and drenched with blood. The only thing he could distinctly make out was her eyes, and at the moment they seemed more a fiendish yellow than the warm honey he knew.

When all of the guards were finally dead Oriole felt the rage leave her body, replaced by bone deep weariness. Her sword and dagger dropped to the ground with a clatter from her nerveless fingers as she dropped her knees beside her betrothed. At the gentle touch of her hand on his wrist he gasped in surprise, eyes flying open.

"O—Oriole?" He groaned, pausing as he coughed up a glob of blood.

"Nelaros!" She cried, pressing her hand lightly to his face, "Hold on, I'm going to get you a potion. Soris!"

"It—it's okay. I d—don't think I—I'm going t—to make it. But… I-I'm glad you'll make it… glad you'll be f—free." Tears pricked her eyes at his words and she hastily grabbed the potion that Soris had shoved into her hand.

"Don't talk like that… Drink this, we'll get you to a healer. It'll be fine." Oriole didn't know who those last words were for, him or herself.

"No… save it. I'm a lost cause I'm afraid… But t—take th—is." He unfolded the long fingers of his hand, palm cradling a single band of gold. The gems glinted in the torchlight and Oriole felt the tears stream down her cheeks as he slid it onto her finger.

"D—don't forget…wh—what we could… ha—ve been." He coughed, more blood and spittle staining his lips.

"I would have loved to finish falling in love with you." She whimpered, cupping his face gently. Staring into those ocean blue eyes, those beautiful blue eyes that had captivated her since she'd first seen them, she pressed her lips lovingly to his. It was a gentle kiss, full of unspoken sorrow and regret. She held him, her lips against his as he breathed his last breath, the air stuttering from his lungs and into hers. When she pulled back her lips were painted red with her betrothed's blood, and the anger returned to her gaze. Her fury sustained her, and she wanted blood. The streets of Denerim would run red with the blood of these shemlen and she would dangle Vaughn Kendells' body at the front, his head on a pike at the front gates.

"Cousin… I'm so sorry." Those words were insignificant, and she fought the urge to lash out at him.

"He died to save me. A sacrifice that should not have needed to be made." Oriole whispered softly, hands trembling in overwhelming rage. She wanted to scream, to curse the cruelty and injustice of the world. But that would do no good, and accomplish nothing.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan." She had seen her mother die, had been helpless to stop it, and remembered her grandmother saying that to her father. When asked about the phrase, Cyrion had revealed its Dalish origins and translation. Though she had never felt any particular kinship with her wilder cousins, the phrase was appropriate.

"Let's go." She growled, pushing to her feet and scooped up her weapons. She no longer tried to avoid notice; death had a name and it was Oriole Tabris. She was vengeance, she was wrath, and every single shemlen that stepped in her path felt the bite of her blades. There was little white left on her dress, and it seemed to the elf that she dripped with the blood of her enemies. Soris stayed behind, a horrified expression on his face as he watched his cousin slaughter Vaughn's men. She was covered in the red substance, except for her face. That alone had a minimal spattering of blood, and it made the stark red of her lips stand out sharply against her pale skin. Her eyes blazed with the promise of death, and Soris knew that deep down his cousin was dead. This woman… it was no longer the fun loving trouble maker who could escape the guard-captain's ire with a few well-placed words and a gentle smile.

It seemed like forever, but they were finally standing in front of Vaughn's door. She could hear screams and sobbing on the other side and the beast that had been awakened inside of her fought for control. It screamed to be released, to be set free and rip the heart out of the bastard who took her future from her. But rage without control could get a person killed… and she was a rogue; brute strength didn't work for her. She relied on her cunning and stealth to survive. And poison…

"Give me your blade." Ripping off a relatively clean piece of tapestry from the wall, Oriole took the bottle of rat poison and pulled the cork out. Soris handed over his sword with a confused look on his face. He arched an eyebrow as she treated his weapon first, hers following close after.

"Don't touch it, but try to get the unprotected areas first. I doubt he'll be wearing armor but the poison is useless if we can't get it inside of him." She whispered, motioning for him to stand beside the door. Protected by the hard corner of the wall Soris gripped the latch for the door and watched his cousin, waiting. At her terse nod he lifted the latch, shoving the door open as she rushed in.

"My, my. What have we here?" Vaughan Kendells was standing over Shianni, who had a black eye and broken lip. Oriole felt her anger mounting, and she resisted the urge to spit at the man. It was obvious that her cousin had been the source of the sobbing as evidence of her red, puffy eyes and the tear tracks down her cheeks.

"Don't worry milord, we'll make quick work of these two." One of his henchmen shrugged, an arrogant smile on his face. Urien was not so impressed with their claims, and let it be known.

"Quiet you idiot! They're covered with enough blood to fill a tub. What do you think that means?" He snapped, watching the two elves with an appraising look.

"You tell me." Oriole smirked as she gave her sword a flourished spin, purely for show. He was fearful, and that mollified the beast within her.

"Surely we can talk out a deal. You are skilled, obviously. We fight here, perhaps you could even manage to kill us…"

_Perhaps?_ The beast brayed, causing her to grit her teeth to stop from swearing at the human. To prevent her from screaming insults and leaping at his throat. But she relied on cunning… let him finish speaking.

"But my father won't let that go. Your pigsty of an alienage will be burned to the ground." His words rung true, and Oriole felt a sliver of doubt in the back of her mind.

"Or, you turn and walk away… with forty sovereigns added to your purses. Take that money and leave Denerim tonight. No repercussions and you can go wherever you like." At that a plan began to formulate in the back of her mind, and the elf let her blades drop into a nonthreatening stance.

"Give me the money." She grinned, tucking her dagger into the sheath she had claimed from Maerl. Holding her hand out expectantly, she fought hard not to wince at the betrayed scream of Shianni.

"You bitch! How could you?! Don't you dare leave us here!" Shianni shrieked, earning a backhand from Lord Braden.

"Shut it knife-ears, your betters are doing business." He growled in sadistic pleasure. Oriole felt her skin start to crawl as the humans turned to her, predatory looks in their eyes.

"Cousin!" Soris hissed, his voice angry and worried at the same time.

"Shut up." She responded hotly, casting a hard look at him. Soris swallowed his words, stepping back as he saw the glint in her eyes. He didn't know what game she was playing, but he would let her play it. He trusted that money wouldn't be enough to draw his cousin off of her warpath.

"The money Bann Vaughn and we'll be on our way." She cooed sweetly, expectantly. Let the stupid human think he had bought her…

"Jonaley, go get the sovereigns." Fishing in his pocket for a key, Vaughn tossed it to a friend and they watched as the human hurried off to do his bidding. Once he returned, and the coin purse was secured to her belt, Oriole turned a sly grin to her business partner.

"There, you have your money. I trust you can find your way out…" Vaughn sneered, turning a lecherous smirk to Shianni, who glared hatefully at Oriole. She winced at that; her cousin would likely be furious once she found out what she was planning.

"Of course, Messere." Grabbing Soris, she pulled him close as they turned to the door.

"When I say, go for Shianni. Take her to the back room with the other women, lock the door and help me. Vaughn is mine." She hissed, pitching her voice low. Soris nodded, wide eyed as he watched his cousin rest her hand lightly on the dagger hilt.

"Now!" She snarled, spinning on her heel. In one swift, smooth motion the dagger was drawn and flying through the air. It sank into the throat of Jonaley before he could move. The elves sprang into action; Soris running and grabbing Shianni, the pair running to the back room and snapping the door shut. Oriole leapt the distance between her and her dagger, ripping it out of the dead man with a sickening slurp. Braden was the next to fall, her sword slitting his throat before he could so much as lift his sword and shield.

Unfortunately for her Vaughn had used that time to holster his weapons and slammed his shield into the elf. She went stumbling back with stars in her eyes, her ribs screaming in pain.

"Bah! I always regret talking to knife ears! Now I'll just gut your ignorant carcasses instead!" He spat in disgust, advancing on her. His sword came down in an arc, only to meet with clashing thunder against her own. Sweeping her legs out she sent the man staggering back as she rolled to her feet.

"You'll find that I'm no easy prey, shemlen." She growled, surging forward and striking out at him. They moved in a dizzying dance of thrusts and parries, side steps and sweeping arcs. Their blades danced together in a song of death and destruction.

"You're going to wish that you'd just behaved like a good little girl." He grinned, landing a blow that had her long sword flying out of her hand. Oriole hissed, now disarmed, and prepared herself to block any attacks that she could. What she was unprepared for was Vaughn throwing his full weight on her, forcing her backwards and onto the bed. Pinned underneath him, the slight woman was nearly immobilized from the sheer weight of the man.

"NO!" She screamed, feeling his sick perversion pressing up against her leg as he held her hands over her head, wrists enclosed fully in one palm. Vaughn simply grinned, ripping the dress down the front as he reached to untie his trews with the other hand. Spitting in his face succeeded in having the man roar in anger, slapping her hard across the face. She gasped in surprise, stars dotting her vision as pain exploded across her senses.

"Oh yes little knife-ear. The blood is a bit of a turn off, but let's see if you're as tight as your cousin." He grinned, groping at her front.

Vaughn reeled back as something hard slammed into his side and Oriel looked up in surprise to find Soris standing protectively over her. She took in a deep breath, reaching blindly until her hand closed around the hilt of her dagger. Staggering to her feet, she panted heavily as the human clutched his side, momentarily winded.

"This is for my wedding." She snarled, punching him hard across the face.

"This is for my friends." Another punch, this one in the stomach.

"For my cousin." A well placed kick between the legs.

"And this is for my husband!" Plunging her dagger deep into his chest, the crunch of bone beneath her force was satisfying. Almost as much as the last, rattling gasp that left his mouth… the pain and fear crossing his features… the light leaving his eyes.

"Holy Maker!" Shianni stood in the doorway, hard pressed to her mouth in horror as she looked at her cousin standing over the dead Bann's body.

"Disgusting bastard." She spat, straightening and grabbing her dagger once more. She looked at the blade thoughtfully before grabbing a fistful of hair. It was soaked with blood, and cut easily as the elf drew her dagger around the locks, shearing them from her head. All that was left was a few feathered tufts that curled around her face and cheeks, falling just below the point of her chin.

"Ori… I thought you—I mean you—" Oriole cut Shianni off with a gentle smile, stepping over the carnage.

"I would never leave you behind little cousin. Now, listen, we don't have much time. When we get back to the Alienage the guards won't be far behind. So you're going to take the money and be very careful with how you spend it." Pressing the coin purse into Shianni's hand, turning to the door. The other women were huddled around Soris in terror and Oriole felt the ghost of a smile grace her lips. Valora was practically clinging to him with adoring eyes.

"Let's move ladies… I doubt that we'll encounter much resistance."

* * *

"You expect me to believe that a single elf did all of this?" The Guard-Captain arched a silvered, bushy eyebrow, turning a harsh gaze to Oriole, who was now clean and blood free.

"You might find that we are not all helpless." Valendrian answered dryly, his pose carefully relaxed. She noticed that he stepped slightly in front of her, as if to shield her from the guard's scrutiny. Soris quailed behind them both by now in an almost full panic. The past few hours had passed for him in a numb, detached sort of way but now… it finally hit him that his cousin was protecting him from the wrath of the guards.

"I don't envy your fate elf, but you've saved a lot of lives by coming forward." The guard admonished, a pitying look on his face.

"I think I may have a solution to that." All heads turned to the Rivain colored man. Duncan walked up calmly, a woman with long brown hair and a Mabari following behind. The woman watched with an impassive expression, her green eyes vacant and haunted.

"Speak Grey Warden." The guard-captain almost growled, crossing his arms.

"I hereby invoke the Rite of Conscription. This woman will join me and become a Grey Warden." Duncan answered, making the elf stutter in surprise.

Wait. _What?!_

**And here we are, introduced to one Oriole Tabris. I have to admit the Female City Elf origin is one of my absolute favorites. It's got so much angst! This is one of the longer chapters that I have so far, and there are big things planned for this elf! Big things I tell you! (maniacle laughter)**

**Ahem...**

**Anyway, next chapter will be up soon.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Woo! Chapter 3! Yeah! So, here we are introduced to one of my dynamic mage duo's! And a post right before work too!**

**Favorite, follow and review!**

**Much love,**

**Adara.**

**Also, as I forgot the disclaimer, Bioware owns all, I just play here.**

A Forbidden Love

"Know this, apprentice; if you fail, we templars will do our duty. You will die." Ilenia Surana nodded at the Knight-Commander's grave words. His eyes were somber; this was something he had overseen more times than he could count. His sword had been stained with the blood of apprentices who had failed their Harrowing before. But he hoped Surana would not be one of them; she was a young woman with exceptional gift, and the Circle would be lessened by her loss.

"I understand Knight-Commander." She answered, the tightness of her lips and white knuckled fists an indication of her nervousness. Irving placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, leading her over to a pedestal containing a bowl of blue liquid.

"This is lyrium; the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade." Ilenia looked down at it in confusion, blue eyes crinkling in surprise as she turned to the First Enchanter.

"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity child. Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we have succeeded, so shall you." Irving smiled gently, her mentor patting her shoulder. Ilenia took some comfort in his faith in her, drawing in a deep breath as she stepped up to the pedestal.

"Keep your wits about you child, and remember what you have been taught. Magic is to serve man, never to rule over him." Greagior warned, standing back with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Ilenia took one last calming breath of air, her blue eyes scanning the room. There was a contingent of thirteen templars, including the Commander, and they all had their bucket-shaped helmets on. She wondered if _he _was here, but there was no way of knowing.

"Let's do this." She sighed softly, her fingers lightly brushing into the liquid. The ripples it caused mesmerized her, and Ilenia felt the strength in her knees give out as the world went dark around her.

She awoke only a heartbeat later, the blue sky tinged with fingers of purple. The first thing she marveled at was the fact that she was outside. As an apprentice they had been allowed outside once a week for stretching and exercising… that was until Anders had tried to swim away from the tower. After that the Templars deemed it too dangerous and now they'd be lucky if they could get five minutes of sunshine a day. Which of course had given many of the apprentices a rather doughy physique.

But the taste of sunshine rang hollow in this ever-changing world, especially considering the fact that if she wasted too much time she'd be assumed failed and killed. So pushing herself to her feet, Ilenia took an appraising look at her surroundings. The Fade itself was a pale mockery of the waking world, the spirits attempting to capture the creative spark of men without truly understanding it. It was an attempt to blend architecture with the chaos of the wilderness; tiled floors and broken pillars covered in vines with thick woods in the background, slowly approaching. She wondered where and how she would find the demon in this vast, endless place…

"Well Surana, the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step." She sighed, steeling herself. There was a slight, winding path that stretched before her and the young mage carefully made her way down it. Not even a few steps down she saw a spell wisp bobbing on the path. She was unprepared for the burning shock of lightning that it shot out at her, and yelped in pain. Rolling out of its trajectory, Ilenia sprang to her feet and let her magic pulse around her. Drawing on the stones beneath her, she molded the earth to form a protective armor around her skin. It succeeded in grounding the lightning with little more than a buzz in the back of her teeth. Icy eyes narrowed and the elf leapt forward, unleashing a torrent of fire from her fingertips. When the flames died down the wisp was gone, and once again she was alone in the Fade. So she did what she could, and kept walking.

Ilenia Surana was a product of the Circle; she viewed it has her home, her refuge from the horrors of the world outside. A view quite different from that of her best friend, who had been brought to Kinloch Hold against his will, after being caught doing magic. But since she was brought into the tower at the ripe age of six, unconscious, and with no memory of before, she knew that she was home. It was not a perfect home, she had to be careful of more than just risk of demonic possession. Just as there were Templars who abused their power, so did some of the enchanters. She had had plenty of cause to doubt the justice of the circle, and had been disappointed and abandoned by the system before.

But if her options were a sheltered world where she could survive if she was careful, or a dangerous place that would hate and resent her for the shape of her ears as much as the magic in her veins… well, the choice was obvious wasn't it? She would have to take the lesser of the two evils. And in the Circle she thrived, both in ability and knowledge. Almost every book in the library had been devoured under her seeking gaze at some point, from Antivan poems to the intricacies of the King's military choices. There were a few templars who had expressed concern over her choice of literature, but their claims were easily dismissed.

One look at Ilenia and anyone could see that she had no desire to flee the circle.

Honestly, where could she go?

Somebody had once told her that her parents had been Dalish; likely they were taking her to another clan to be apprenticed as the First of a Keeper. But that did not mean she felt any kinship to her wilder cousins. She had no recollection of her life beyond waking up in that dreadfully uncomfortable bed in the apprentice quarters. At least, that was what she told the others. In the deepest parts of her heart, she retained belief in the Creators, and carried still the two mementos of her past life. Tied to a leather string and kept around her neck was a small, hand carved dragon, painted gold. She would often grip it when she needed to concentrate, or just simply calm her raging emotions. The other was a bone carved halla figurine. That was currently tucked away safely in her foot locker.

At some point during her wandering of the Fade she encountered a mouse…who was a man…who named himself Mouse. He had claimed to be an apprentice who had failed his Harrowing and Ilenia didn't buy it for even a minute. She sensed an undercurrent of deep magic, and knew that this was likely some sort of spirit in disguise. It offered to accompany her until she confronted the demon, contributing when he could. She played a dangerous game by accepting his offer of help, but she was lost and honestly had no idea what she was supposed to do.

"Be careful, I sense another spirit ahead." Mouse warned, once again in his furred four legged form. Ilenia looked up at his words, eyes drifting over the shifting landscape. Standing up in a small clearing, surrounded by racks of weapons. The elf squared her shoulders, making a beeline for the spirit. It was dressed in a shimmering set of templar armor, body bathed in golden light as it watched her.

"So, another mageling thrown into the Fade. Better they pit you against yourselves." The spirit spat in disdain, arms crossed as he regarded her.

"But we must prove our ability to resist a demon's influence." Running an appraising eye over the weapons, she was surprised to see mage staves next to a set of longbows.

"There is no fair battle between a demon and apprentice." The spirit scoffed, tilting its head to the side. Ilenia looked down, watching as it pinned Mouse with a harsh glare.

"And what kind of spirit are you?" She asked, drawing its attention back to her.

"I am a spirit of Valor. And you are another poor soul doomed for failure." He answered in kind. Ilenia pursed her lips, doubt creeping into her heart. Would she be strong enough to face the demon, or would it crush her will and possess her body? How could one woman, barely twenty, defeat a creature that existed outside of time itself?

_You are stronger than you think._ Irving's words echoed in the back of her mind, easing the doubts from her mind.

"I will not fail. I am a mage of the Circle." Quiet steel filled those words, and Ilenia straightened her spine. Had she been paying attention, she would have seen that behind her Mouse glowed just slightly, looking as though he'd grown a little bit.

"Words I have heard many times before, though," Valor paused, giving a slight chuckle, "coming from you I may believe them. You'll need a weapon if you are to defeat a demon though."

_And here it comes, the deal. They're always angling for something._

"Do not take me for a fool, spirit. I do not make deals with your kind." She growled, lightning twisting around her fingers.

"I am not a demon, mage!" Valor spat, his own energies coming to life. "I do not want into that dull, unchanging world of yours. I would offer you a chance to win a weapon. If I feel you are capable of defeating a demon I will call off the duel and grant you a staff."

Ilenia paused, analyzing the words closely, searching for any type of hidden meaning. This spirit may not be a demon, but it towed a thin line; demons were created by the corruption of spirits. And there was no way she was returning to the mortal world with some Fade creature piggybacking in the back of her mind. Even if she managed to avoid being smited, stabbed and burned by the templars, she really didn't want to share her most private thoughts with some detached spectator. Not to mention that it went against everything the Circle stood for.

But Valor had no such desires. He simply wanted to prove her mettle.

"I accept your terms." She nodded at last, bringing the lightning in her palms to full force. It popped and crackled, two glowing balls of pure plasmatic energy. It was dangerous to deal with the Fade's permanent inhabitants, and if Irving were here he would probably be disappointed. But he wasn't, and she had no other options.

A very long time ago, Cullen had been a potential recruit for the Templar order. His first day he'd watched as they'd brought in a young elf covered in blood and completely unconscious. She was a small thing, they'd been just as worried that malnutrition would take her as surely as the magic. From what the Knight-Commander had told him, they'd found the girl in the thrall of blood mages. Her and her mother both had been close to death… unfortunately only she made it.

Since that day, as he watched Greagior carry the child lightly to Senior Enchanter Wynne for healing he made an oath to himself; no matter what, he would be there to help her if she survived.

And he kept his promise; he was here for her when she needed help.

Just… just not in the way he had imagined.

Greagior had calmly handed him the great sword, a blank expression on his face as he schooled him in the duty he would be expected to carry out should worse come to worse.

Did the Knight-Commander realize how heavy the blade felt to the young templar? Cullen had no desire to cut this beautiful, smart, wonderful creature's life short. What had started years ago as a templar simply protecting his charge from a snake had blossomed into a forbidden relationship that had captured his very soul…

"_A nice day, isn't it Cullen?" Ser Hadley smiled, the senior knight nodding warmly to the newly appointed one. Cullen agreed; the sun was shining, the birds were chirping and the waves were lapping pleasantly at the shore, where a few of the younger apprentices were soaking their feet and splashing along the sand. Even better, that apprentice, Anders had been recaptured and sent back into solitary confinement. _

"_Absolutely beautiful." Cullen grinned, eyes scanning along the small group of twenty or so apprentices that had been brought out for daily exercise._

"_And it's not the only thing." Hadley smirked, drawing a confused look from the younger templar. Hadley jerked his chin to an apprentice who was calmly walking along the shore—still within easy reach of the templars—well away from the other apprentices. Cullen instantly recognized the shock of white hair and slight, pointed ears of apprentice Surana. _

_His cheeks turned red when he realized just what Hadley was referring to; the young apprentice—only about sixteen—had her robes pulled up to her knees, exposing her shapely calves. What enamored him however was the soft, peaceful smile on her face as the sand squished between her toes._

"_It's a good thing that she's loyal to the Circle," Hadley mused, eyes following the slight elf, "she has enough raw power that if she wanted, she could draw down a horrible storm." _

"_Do you suppose it has something to do with her heritage?" Cullen asked curiously, his own eyes tracing her every move… In case she tried to make a break for it. _

_At least, that's what he told himself._

"_Oh I wouldn't doubt it. It's not often that we get Dalish mages but when we do they're usually very powerful." Hadley nodded, expression thoughtful. They stayed like that, leaning against the tower wall as the apprentices frittered in the courtyard, enjoying the fresh air… well most of them anyway. Hadley's own charge, Finn, looked absolutely miserable as he tried so very carefully to avoid getting any dirt on his robes._

"_Alright, I think it's time to bring these lot in. You go get the elf, I'll round up the rest of them." Hadley sighed, motioning to the other templars, who were placed strategically to intercept any attempted escapes. Cullen nodded with an amused smile on his face, the collective groan and individual cheer—from Finn of course—echoing loudly. The sound made Ilenia look up in surprise, a sad frown curving her light lips as she turned back into the direction of the others, tracing her faded footsteps. _

_Cullen was only a few yards away when she let out a terrified scream, body going ramrod stiff as a panicked expression flew across her face. He picked up the pace, armor clacking loudly as he ran to her side. As soon as he was within a few feet of the young elf, she scrambled behind him, fingers clutching at his breastplate as she used him as a shield._

"_What? What is it?" He asked, hand on his sword, brown eyes scanning for any threat._

"_There's a monster! A vile, slithering snake! Kill it!" She shrieked, voice loud and shrill and right in his ear. The templar winced, following the trembling hand to a small garter snake that was making its way to the edge of the water._

_His first instinct was to laugh, but the petrified way that the girl was clinging to him had the young man swallowing any remarks. He remembered Greagior mentioning that she was afraid of snakes… they weren't sure why, and assumed it had something to do with her time trapped by the blood mages. So instead of teasing her about it, he carefully pried her death grip off of his armor and took a few steps towards the snake. Behind him, Ilenia gave a small squeak, her face almost as white as her hair and lips pressed into a single, pink line. _

"_Shoo! Get out of here!" He growled, lightly scooting the snake back into the grass. The other templars and mages had paused to watch this, and he couldn't ignore the laughter, and some of the rather cruel things that they were saying. Once the snake had safely retreated, he turned back to the apprentice to see her looking at the ground with red ears. His heart clenched in sympathy, and he gently walked up beside her, offering his arm._

"_Tis alright milady, it's gone now." He offered kindly, drawing her gaze to him. When her icy blue eyes locked onto his, Cullen swore that he lost all potential at cognitive thought. They reminded him of the color of lyrium, and he found that he could just as easily get addicted. There was the hint of tears in them, but she gave him a trembling smile, tucking her arm gently into his._

"_Thank you…" She whispered, quite possibly the first time ever speaking to him. Cullen warmed, fighting the urge to smile as he led her back to the tower doors. _

That had been the start of a beautiful relationship. He had been surprised when he had been assigned the elf as his charge, only days before she had been under the watch of Ser Faulkner. Nobody talked about the day that Faulkner and Senior Enchanter Lucian had been led out of the tower in cuffs. Oh there were rumors… most seemed to think that the pair had been conspiring to use blood magic to overthrow the tower. But the next day Cullen had been brought before Greagior and evaluated before being told that he was to watch over Ilenia. In the six years that they had been paired together, he had watched her grow from a gawky young teenager into a beautiful woman. She had been cold, and distant at first but eventually had warmed to him… and then much more.

Memories of stolen kisses and fevered words passed through his mind.

_Oh Maker, please don't make me do this. Please let her live._ He prayed silently, looking down at her supine form. Her eyelids flickered restlessly, and he could see her lips twitching in unspoken words. Greagior watched seemingly impassively, trying hard to keep the emotion off of his face. The Knight-Commander had been very protective of the young woman, and that often meant he was harder on her during the few occasions she'd acted out of line. The old man claimed it was because she was one of the best and brightest that the Circle had to offer, but Cullen suspected it was something more. Something that had to do with the Knight-Commander being the one to find her in the blood mage's camp.

But such thoughts were little more than speculation, as the Knight-Commander was unlikely to reveal anything more.

There was a collective tension that filled the room as Ilenia stirred, growling slightly before falling limp again. Greagior turned a demanding look to Irving, who had a frown on his face. Slowly the mage closed his eyes, fingertips brushing against the elf's sweaty forehead.

"Give her time Commander. She is facing off against a Pride demon."

_What?!_

How could they expect her to survive against the most powerful type of demon in the Fade? To Cullen the weight of the sword seemed to increase twofold as he felt sweat beading against his forehead.

"Give her five more minutes. If she hasn't responded by then, we must assume the worst." Greagior warned, his face blank as the ominous words fell heavily from his lips. Cullen's prayers became more fervent; he couldn't lose her now!

What they were doing was forbidden, yes, but beyond that she was still a wonderful person. Surely the Maker wouldn't take such a gifted, kind hearted woman from the world.

Certainly He couldn't be that cruel!

"Be ever vigilant mage, the true tests never end." Ilenia looked up at the towering form of Mouse, all spikes and crevices and purple ooze.

A fucking pride demon?

"Oh this is just bloody brilliant. First I fight a spirit of Valor, then a rage demon, lock wits with sloth… and you were my challenge?" She snarled in annoyance, a ball of lightning sparking to life in her hands. And yes, she realized that it would take a lot more than one measly first level lightning spell to take on an effing pride demon, but it made her feel better.

"Oh… I'll be vigilant alright." She growled, the lightning snapping away as she pinched the bridge of her nose tightly. Darkness crept into her vision, her every move seeming to lag as she suddenly felt so… heavy.

"_She is waking…"_

"What in the world?" Her head was spinning, she thought she may be sick.

"_Prepare yourself Knight…"_

The fade blacked out, her body filled with a sense of wild vertigo as her stomach did angry flips. She couldn't be sure, but Ilenia was sorely convinced that her kidneys were pushed up against her gallbladder…

"Unnngh…" She groaned, the world coming into dim and blurry focus.

"Knight-Commander?" Irving's face was the first that came into focus, her mentor bent over her and blue light drifting from his palm. It created an itchy sensation all over her body, and the elf recognized it as healing magic.

"I sense no corruption in her. Congratulations Surana, you have successfully completed your Harrowing." Greagior looked down at her, his face ever that stern mask. His dark eyes glinted with some unknown emotion, one that was gone so fast she was unconvinced it was really there.

"First Enchanter?" Struggling to sit up, her stomach pitched dangerously and she had to clamp her mouth shut. Newly Harrowed and already throwing up on herself was not the reputation she wanted.

"Don't try to sit up just yet dear girl. Let your body settle. You did good child, very good. I am proud of you." The praise from her beloved mentor filled Ilenia with warmth, and a small smile hitched the corners of her lips.

_Pride is every one's master… watch for me mageling, I will be back._ Mouse's words had the smile falling almost as soon as it had come, and Ilenia carefully pushed herself into a sitting position, head bowed.

"I am glad to serve the Circle. I can only hope that my magic will serve mankind to brighten the Maker's world." She murmured softly, earning a slight, rasping chuckle from the First Enchanter.

"Ah, a Circle mage to the very core my dear." Irving smiled, joints popping as he gingerly rose to his feet.

"Cullen… help Surana move her things to her rooms." Greagior ordered, voice coldly rapping through the air.

"Aye ser." A heavily gauntleted hand was shoved in her face and Ilenia took it without thought, allowing herself to be pulled onto her feet. As she tried to stand her legs gave way and the young mage nearly toppled, only to find support in the hard armor of the templar. Ser Cullen steadied the newly Harrowed mage, noticing the tightness of her lips and the slightly green pallor of her cheeks.

"You will watch her, until you are relieved by Jenner. Keep an eye out for any sense of possession." The Knight-Commander had that hard, impassive look on his face once more. But he had to wear that mask; he was the Knight-Commander. He had seen more death in this chamber than most had seen in their entire lives. To care for an apprentice, even one who passed their Harrowing, was inviting weakness. At any time a mage could give into temptation… become a demon…

"_Save… my daughter… emma'asha…da'vhenan…"_ Greagior would never forget the dying elf's words, her blue eyes and pale hands reaching for the small child bundled in his arms. That night she had pinned him with those lyrium blue eyes, demanding, pleading. How could he deny a mother this?

The Knight-Captain watched as the woman stumbled, clinging desperately to the knight's side. She was pale, thin, dark circles hung under her eyes but she would live. And in the Circle she was safe from the horrors of the world outside. But he had kept his ear to the ground, he knew that a Blight was coming… that change was coming… and he wasn't sure that anywhere was truly safe.

"Ah, so a newly Harrowed mage. How does it feel?" Cullen led the way to the new mage quarters, a decent sized room with a large bed and private tub.

"That was… Gods, it was so awful." Shaking her head, her white hair fell limply around her shoulders. At some point it had escaped from the bun she normally kept it corralled in, the natural curls little more than sweat drenched waves. They carried two crates between them, all that the elf possessed in the world tucked safely inside. Very few of these items were mementos of her past; a small ivory figurine of a halla and a little beaded bracelet that had long since grown too small. No, most of her things were clothes, books and a few pieces of jewelry she had either bought from the Kester or been given.

"I can't imagine what it felt like, going up against a demon." Cullen nodded softly, his heart reaching out for the woman who still couldn't manage to force the shivers out of her body. Despite all of her bravado in the fade, facing Valor, Sloth, Rage… Mouse… she had been absolutely terrified. But then, who in their right mind wouldn't be? She had encountered not one, but four of the Fade's inhabitants, three of which were demons.

"No..." She agreed, voice little above a whisper, "You truly can't."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, setting her crate down on the vanity.

"Yes! But I can't. I understand now why they train us so hard and why the Harrowing is kept secret. How many would simply beg for the Rite over the possibility of falling victim to a demon." Going through her books, the young elf set them on the shelf in alphabetical order. She gently ran her fingers over the spines of each tome, a small smile curving her lips as peace washed over her. How often as an apprentice she had found herself in the library, her troubles melting away as she fully immersed herself in the world of the written word.

She had a thirst for knowledge that was unrivaled by any in the tower, it had been that which had drawn Irving's attention to her. It was a short rise to infamy then; the other apprentices had called her Irving's pet, snubbing her and shooting nasty looks over their shoulders as she walked by. Oh aye, the tower was a dangerous place for the faint of heart… but she wasn't alone. Simon Amell, the tower's resident playboy and one of the two most gifted spirit healers that had yet to reach their Harrowing, had been like a big brother to her since day one. He was incredibly protective of her, and had convinced her to get into all sorts of trouble. He hung around the other spirit healer Anders, who was scheduled to take his Harrowing in the next couple of days. Both boys had already made several attempts to escape the tower; Anders was currently on escape attempt six and they were all taking polls as to how long it would last. Simon on the other hand had only made one previous attempt… though he had stayed gone for almost three months.

Ilenia cared about them both, and though she missed them when they were on the run—and subsequently in solitary—she also couldn't help but wish them the best of luck too.

Her third closest friend was Jowan. He had been there the longest, and though he wasn't the strongest in magic, he was sweet and kind. She would admit that when she had been younger she'd had a huge crush on him but… over time she realized that the feelings were not reciprocated. It had hurt at the time, but she'd gotten over it eventually. Things were still awkward with them occasionally, but if she were completely honest with herself she had to admit she'd moved on to something better.

_Speaking of which…_ Turning with a smirk the elf fisted her hands on her hips as she watched Cullen inspecting the halla figurine. It was now resting on her night table, next to a pitcher and glass for water, and her latest read, _In Praise of the Humble Nug._ It was a novel by the venerated Bragan Tolban, prized chef of the House Aeducan in Orzammar. It told of his many exploits concerning nugs, and various ways to prepare them. It offered fascinating insight on dwarven cuisine.

"So, Ser Cullen…" She purred, cocking her hip as she regarded him with hooded eyes. Cullen looked up in surprise, dark eyes widening in surprise as the slight mage sauntered up to him, fingers brushing lightly against the emblem on his chest. The surprise quickly faded as he felt the sparking of desire deep in his stomach, the cause gazing up at him with sultry hunger.

"Lena…" He grinned playfully, taking her hand gently in his own. Placing a gentle kiss on the open palm the templar stepped back, before spinning the woman into his arms as though they had been dancing. She laughed in delight as she leaned against him, blue eyes sparkling in mirth.

_Maker I love this woman…_ Cullen thought, brushing the cool metal of his gauntleted fingers across her cheek. That smile widened, thin lips drawing back to reveal perfectly white teeth, before his little mage pulled him down to her. Their lips pressed gently together, the innocence in that gesture giving way to something darker, more passionate.

Their relationship may be forbidden but at that moment neither found themselves capable of caring.

**Okay, so I think this one is my absolute favorite warden. She and Cullen are my OTP. Not to mention she's my main warden… so many plans for Lena. So many. Next chapter continues with more circle adventures! Stay tuned!**


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